


Day(s) in the Life

by orphan_account



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Amnesia, Awkward Conversations, Confusion, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Established Relationship, Flirting, Light Angst, M/M, Memory Loss, Multiplicity/Plurality, Not Canon Compliant, Self-Indulgent, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:22:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27113944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It’s four in the afternoon and he has absolutely no idea what is going on.
Relationships: Nico Flores/Thomas Sanders
Comments: 14
Kudos: 119





	Day(s) in the Life

**Author's Note:**

> wanting more system content because you are a system vs. not wanting the focus to be entirely on alters/parts.
> 
> unstoppable force meets immovable object.

It’s four in the afternoon and he has absolutely no idea what is going on.

The last thing he remembers before everything grows fuzzy was talking to Thomas about a part he got in a musical (a wonderful thing, really, not to mention Thomas is downright _adorable_ when he gets excited and starts to talk about all the things he’s passionate about), relaxing in his room with his laptop in his lap and his headphones hanging around his neck to give his scalp a break from the constant pressure of having them on. The moon had just started to peek out from behind the clouds and the clock had read around eleven o’clock, and he remembers saying something along the lines of “hey, I don’t mind talking to such a pretty face, but it’s getting pretty late,” because at the time it sounded less cheesy and more romantic, and Thomas’ answering laugh had only hammered that home for him.

And now it’s four in the afternoon, his newest song already halfway written, the cake he’d _specifically saved_ for today _gone_ , and something along the lines of “DO NOT DELETE NEW FOLDER ON DRIVE” written on his arm (the folder in question being a folder dedicated entirely to cat pictures, which…he can’t say he’s opposed to). The notebook he usually leaves for these types of situations, when amnesia and dissociation kick in and leave him with questions and no answers, is empty, meaning that whoever was out didn’t stick to the agreed-upon, please-do-this-or-else-we-will-cease-to-function system of communication.

Which, honestly, implies several different possibilities, none of which he likes.

Nico makes a noise in the back of his throat, his brain still somewhere between _Nico_ and _someone else_. He feels them push against him— _don’t panic, everything is fine, it’s fine_ —which serves to only make him panic further.

Frazzled, he pulls out his phone, typing a number without really thinking about it—stopping short before dialing Thomas’ number.

 _He doesn’t know_ overlaps with another message of _he **can’t** know._

It’s a common debate they all have among their parts, whether or not to open up about being plural—not just with Thomas, though he’s certainly become a recent target of it, but just with people they know in general. After all, though there’s positives to talking about it, there’s a lot that comes with being a system, a lot that none of them want to think about let alone _explain_ , not to mention the possible lashing out that could result from sharing something about himself that’s not understood very well by people who don’t experience it. And, well, it’s not like all of them feel safe enough to share, even if that’s something they’re all working on.

And though he doesn’t think Thomas will react _terribly_ to the news, that doesn’t mean it’ll be a _good_ reaction, either.

But they’ve also been talking daily for weeks now, which means that Thomas would probably know _something_ …

Nico sighs, pressing the “CALL” button and trying his best not to choke on the anxiety clawing its way up his throat. _Keep it casual_ , he tells himself, _just act normal—_

“Hello?”

And he can’t remember how to talk. Great. “Uh! Hey! You.”

Silence. He can already feel his palms starting to sweat.

“…Is everything okay?” Thomas asks eventually when he doesn’t say anything else, followed by the sound of something clattering to the floor and the man cursing under his breath.

Nico bristles, clearing his throat, struggling against the dull, hazy feeling rising in his head, “Oh, yeah! Yeah, everything’s fine—I was just checking in, that’s all.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah!”

More silence. He can feel another part prodding at him, faint but still noticeable, poking him as if to say, _could you be any more obvious?_

“So…how are things? Up to anything interesting?” _Preferably something with a time-stamp attached?_ he thinks but doesn’t say.

Thomas hums, voice crackling on the other end, “Well, I _was_ trying to cook, but you can probably guess how that’s going.”

“Oh! Any special occasion?”

“Yeah, namely I’m broke and wanted food.”

“Oh…” Nico frowns, scratching at his chin, “do you need me to buy you any, or—”

“You don’t have to buy food for me,” Thomas chuckles. “Though, I’m flattered. That’s really sweet of you.”

His face flames. Okay, well, at least he’s still able to come off as flirting, even if he’s dissociated half out of his mind right now. “That’s okay, I wouldn’t mind. If anything, it could be celebration for getting that new part.”

Thomas’ next words make him feel like he’s been dipped in a bathtub full of ice, “Oh, again? What, couldn’t get enough of me after the first date?”

Nico swallows passed the lump in his throat. He closes his eyes. “…The _first_ date?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah? You took me out to dinner—you even got me these really nice flowers, which, you know, I didn’t think you were one for flowers, but it was still really sweet even though I’m pretty sure they’re dead now—”

“But you only told me about it _last night_ ,” Nico cuts in, unable to stop himself. “We—we really went on a date?” _And I don’t even get to remember it?_

The other end goes eerily quiet. Nico holds his breath, heart beating against his ribcage and his entire body numb, and it takes all of his willpower to keep himself firmly in the front of the mind instead of slipping away again.

Thomas finally comes back, confusion clear as day in his voice, “Nico, it’s Thursday.”

“…What?”

“It’s Thursday,” Thomas tells him, slowly, “We had that conversation over a week ago.”

Nico blinks, staring blankly at the wall.

Then, quite abruptly, he says, “I gotta go, love you, bye,” and hangs up, tossing his phone onto his bed and hiding his face in his hands. The action does little to muffle his screams.

This was going to be a _long_ game of catch-up.


End file.
